Liability
by bobcorby
Summary: Iron Man/Avengers. Tony Stark is kidnapped. He captors want information from him - information that he does, for once, genuinely, really, not possess. Will they believe him? Features the Avengers, Pepper and Harley! This is not a very good summary! Whump/Tony. Hurt/comfort. Please, please, please - read and REVIEW :)
1. Chapter 1

**LIABILITY**

**1**

Tony slowed his white Audi convertible to a stop at the airfield, at the same time as the doors to his jet opened up on the private airfields tarmac. Perfect timing, he thought as he smiled. He lifted his sunglasses from his face to rest on his head, holding his short hair back, before giving the kid clamouring down the jet's fold out steps a wave and thumbs up. Harley brushed the hair from his eyes as he jogged over to the car, his backpack slung over one shoulder. Kid was perhaps an understatement, Tony thought, Harley had recently turned into a teenager and seemed to be taller, stronger and more confident each time they met.

Harley opened the door and plonked himself down in the passenger seat ungracefully, and Tony was grateful he hadn't jumped over the door and straight into his seat – like last time.

"Hey," Tony said, dropping his sunglasses back down over his eyes.

"Hey," Harley said, smirking. "So, forgive me if I'm wrong, but I'm sure you were supposed to come see me this time?"

Tony shrugged. "I was busy. I had to go to a conference," he gestured down to the tailored trousers and white shirt he wore. His jacket had been thrown into the back seat. "It was a last minute thing. Unavoidable. Besides, I thought you would like taking a ride in the Stark plane?"

"It's cool," Harley said. "The ride was awesome. Kinda makes this look a little lame," he said, giggling as he knocked on the door of the car.

"Charming," Tony said, enjoying the banter. "Come on, we need to get back to the tower. I've got some stuff to show you. I think we might need to get you a haircut along the way – the Bieber fringe isn't cool anymore – even he's got rid of it."

Harley smirked and ignored the barb about his hair. "Will any of the other Avengers be there? Will, will – Captain America be there, 'cos he's so cool? Last time, they were away, and you did say next time you would try to introduce me to-"

Tony snorted, interrupting him. "Rogers is boring. Anyway, I need to show you what I've been working on. I want to hear your thoughts on the prototype for my new suit when you see it."

Harley sat forward in his seat, his face lighting up. "You need my help? … But, after that, do you think I'll get to meet any of the Avengers, at all?"

Tony playfully punched him in the arm. "You've already met the most exciting one," he laughed. "But I'll see what I can do, they're all living in the tower now, most of the time, so I'm sure one of them will be around."

"Awesome! Hey, did you say you had a prototype for a new, a new suit? I thought you weren't building any more – I thought you promised Pepper – and you-"

"Enough H, it's like I've got Jiminy Cricket on my shoulder. I'm just building one. Only one. Pepper agreed one would be wise – it's half way ready, but I want to see what you think. If I can only have one, it needs to be the best right?"

Harley shrugged.

"Do you have any enthusiasm for anything other than Captain boring America these days?" Harley started to laugh again.

"I can't wait to see the suit, or the Avengers."

"They we better get moving." Tony started the engine, and sped away. "Buckle up baby!" He yelled over the engine as the car picked up speed, their hair blowing messily against the wind.

Harley laughed again, it was more of a giggle really, and Tony smiled – he really had missed the kid.

The roads were clear and Tony sped down the long winding route, glad of the lack of traffic, he liked nothing more than pushing the speed on long empty stretches of road, which this route to the airfield was. After ten minutes or so he checked his mirrors and noticed a black minivan starting to catch them up. Tony smirked – the van was no competition for his sleek sports car. A few more twists and turns of the road and Tony noticed that the van was starting to close the gap on them.

Tony tapped his thumb against the steering wheel as he wondered if the people behind were trying to catch him up – it wasn't unusual for people to try and overtake him when he was in one of his favourite motors – it was like people were jealous and tried to beat him to make a point – not that he gave a damn – he was the one driving the beauty.

The van continued to catch up, and Tony noticed that the windows were tinted. Even the windshield had a tint – that was unusual. He felt something begin to stir in his stomach, and tried to push it back down. Paranoia wasn't new to him, he had fought it since the attack on New York, but still – this seemed unusual . Tony glanced over at Harley who was enjoying the ride, his eyes shut, his face smiling, looking carefree and innocent. He looked back in the mirror at the van behind them. Paranoia or not, he couldn't take any chances with the kid in the car.

"Hey Harley" Tony called over the noise of the wind. He eased off on the accelerator slightly as he spoke to the boy. "Do me a favour, will you? I need you to lean forward in your seat, towards the foot well, like the crash landing position on a plane."" He tried to sound nonchalant, but something in his voice made Harley respond seriously, whereas he would have normally made a joke. He spun around in his seat, eyed the van, and then looked back at Tony suspiciously.

"It's probably nothing," Tony shrugged, "but I want you to get down. And call Jarvis – you still have the phone that I programmed for you, right?"

Harley nodded, pulled the phone from his jeans pocket before leaning forward in his seat, now out of sight, even with the roof down on the car. Tony was watching Harley do as he asked, keeping one eye on the kid and one on the road ahead, and so he didn't notice the man that appeared from the minivan, his head and shoulders poking through the vans sun-roof, gun in hand. A shot grazed the side of the convertible, smashing through the driver's side mirror. Tony swore. Harley dropped his phone.

"What was that?!"

"Stay down," Tony ordered, "and call Jarvis now! Tell him protocol 69, he'll know what to do."

Another shot pinged off of the car, this one smashing the windshield, and Tony put his foot down on the gas, hoping to outrun the van – surely his car would be faster. He hit the gas as hard as he could, and felt the vehicle begin to pull. He checked his mirror as he saw the gunman take aim again, and ducked as the shot went wide. The gunman disappeared back down into the van as Tony's car began to gain speed and pull away. Tony wished he had the roof up – they were too exposed, even as they gained speed and increased the distance, Harley was still in danger.

"I called Jarvis," Harley yelled from the foot well, crouched in his seat, his head out of danger. "He said to keep to line open. What's going on?"

Tony shook his head. "I don't know."

The road continued to twist and turn but there was a long stretch of nothing before they would hit the highway and a more populated area that would eventually take them into New York. Tony looked in the mirror; it appeared the van was gaining speed. The gunman was visible again, half in the van and half outside again, holding what looked to Tony to be a bigger weapon than the one he had just fired. He didn't know what it was, but for a second he feared they would be shot off the road.

The car was now doing 120 mph, how was the van even visible, never mind keeping up? It should be lost behind a cloud of dust. Still, the gap was slowly opening up, that was something. Tony glanced down at Harley. He had to get the kid out of here – whatever was going off – the kid needed to be as far away as possible. A few more sharp bends, Tony took them carefully, and then another long stretch. He had to do something before the van had a long enough stretch to fire that thing at them.

"Harley, listen very carefully." He glanced down and saw Harley nodding, focused on Tony's words. "In a few minutes I'm going to pull up. You see the woodlands up ahead on the right? I want you to run to that area as fast as you can, and hide. Keep your phone line open, and Jarvis will find you."

"What about you?"

Tony smiled." I'll be fine. I'm going to lose these guys. I just need to make sure you're safe first, okay?"

Harley nodded. The road was stretching out. A few more bends and then they would hit the straight stretch that was usually Tony's most favourite part of the journey. He glanced in the mirror; the van was a minute behind, maybe two. The bend was coming up. "I'm going to stop very sharply, very soon. Brace yourself and get ready to jump out of the car and run. Hide in the woods, and don't make yourself visible to anybody until Captain America himself shouts your name. You hear me?"

Harley nodded again, looking worried. Tony was half way around the bend. He held himself back against his seat and slammed the brakes on, the car screeched to a stop. Harley undid his belt, jumped over the door. He clamoured across the road, and climbed up a slight muddy embankment, then headed towards the trees. They were about five hundred feet away – he should make it. The kid didn't look back. Tony turned the ignition back on, now needing to make up lost ground. He hit the gas and the car pulled easily away, he drove through the rest of the bend, onto the straight road, and didn't let up on the gas pedal. A few hundred feet down the line and the van appeared back in his mirror. Good. It meant they hadn't seen Harley – they hadn't stopped the van – they had no reason to think he wasn't alone.

The man was still half out of the sun-roof, and Tony watched him as he drove. The man seemed to be aiming, despite the distance between them, and Tony swerved his car onto the other side of the road. A large blast knocked into the area he had just vacated, and the car shook. Tony clung on to the wheel, fought not to lose control. A second explosion, and Tony jerked the wheel, back on to the right side of the road, his heart hammering in his chest – he was going too fast to be driving like this. He had slowed down as he had avoided the two blasts, allowing the van to catch up. He sped up again, pushing the car as much as he could. He glanced in his mirrors again and saw a second guy hanging outside of the passenger window, a weapon in hand.

"Crap," he muttered, not knowing what else he could do. There was still miles left to cover on the long stretch of road. The passenger began shooting, and Tony could only duck down in his seat, praying he wouldn't get hit, as he kept an eye on the guy with the bigger weapon that appeared to be taking aim again. But it didn't matter; the passenger had hit his mark, a rear tire exploded, sending Tony's white Audi skidding across the road. Tony again fought with the steering wheel, and slowed the car down, scared he was going to flip it as it bounced along the road. The van was getting closer, two men were firing at him, and he was going to crash the car. What would be the worst outcome? Tony wasn't sure. Either option seemed pretty deadly.

Feeling cornered, Tony decided to try and do what he had instructed Harley to do. He suddenly slammed his breaks on, and the car screeched and shuddered to a stop – the back wheel groaning as he did so. The van was breaking too now, so as not to hit the car. He undid his belt and took off running; the road was lined with steep muddy hills on either side that would lead to the forest area. He ran, pumping his arms as a shot thundered off of the concrete ahead of him, making him jump as he ran. The sloped embankment was getting closer, and Tony tried to ignore the sound of the van's engine revving as it almost caught him up. A second shot slammed into the ground to his left. Tony refused to look back, he kept running, his feet jarring against the concrete road beneath his white sneakers. He reached the slope and was leaping up it when the bullet impacted against his left shoulder, making him yelp in pain - he lost his footing and fell, rolling back down the slope and onto the road.

He hit the floor hard, shouting out in pain as his shoulder jarred against the hard surface. He tried to roll into a crouch, his right hand now pressed firmly against his throbbing shoulder as he struggled to get up, to keep moving. The van overtook him, screeched to a stop just ahead, the side door slid open and four masked men got out. Tony turned around; ready to start running back in the direction he had come from, away from the men, even though he knew it was hopeless. Before he could do so, one of the men shouted out to him.

"You come with us now, and we'll forget about the boy hiding in the woods."

Tony stopped, turned back to face the four men as they began to fan out around him. They had seen Harley in the car. He needed to buy time.

"How do I know I can trust you on that?"

His voice came out haggard, he was out of breath from the desperate run, and his shoulder was on fire from the bullet that had hit him. He had never been shot before, and it hurt more than he thought it would. He looked at the men, trying to think of a way out. There was nothing, he just had to hope that Harley was well hidden and the team would find him soon.

"You don't." One of the masked men said, as another brought his gun up, slamming it into the back of Tony's neck, the force of the hit knocking him out. Two of the men swooped in to grab their captive before he had even hit the ground. They carried him into the back of the van where he was quickly gagged, blindfolded and restrained, before they checked his pockets and searched him. They van started back up, turned around and headed the short distance back to the sports car Tony had abandoned. One of the men got out of the van, carrying a can of petrol. He doused the car before throwing a match at it and running back to the van. The minivan sped away, and was almost at the end of the long stretch of road when they heard the explosion in the distance.

**_Hi everyone!_**

**_This is my second Iron Man fic, and will feature the Avengers too - although its focused on Tony :)_**

**_Please, please, please, please, please (!) review!_**

**_I hope to post an update in the next day or so x_**


	2. Chapter 2

**2**

Tony slowly came to consciousness, his mind foggy, his thought process sluggish. Had he been drinking earlier? He braced himself as he gently opened his eyes, expecting the light to blind him and aggravate the usual booze induced headache. Nothing. Instead, he was confused as he realised he couldn't open them – there was something covering his eyes, he was still in darkness – a blindfold? He tried to reach up to grab at whatever was being used to blindfold him, and realised his arms were tightly bound behind his back. He tried to kick out, and realised his feet too were bound together. Only as he kicked out did he feel the hot pull in his shoulder and he groaned slightly as the pain filtered in, stabbing pains in and out of his shoulder. His groan was muffled – some form of tape held his mouth firmly shut.

What the hell was going on?

Tony sagged back against the cold floor, wishing his arms were restrained in front of him, at least, to ease the pain in his shoulder. Now he was aware of it he couldn't shut it out. He squeezed his eyes shut as the memories slowly came back to him, images of Harley, the drive, the chase, and then – damn, he'd been shot. No wonder his shoulder hurt like it did. He could feel the floor moving beneath him and his senses slowly perked up – he could hear noises – an engine. They were moving – he was still in the van. He stayed still then, playing dead, hoping he would hear something. Surely the men who had abducted him were here – at least one of them would be guarding him, right? He tried to listen but didn't hear a thing.

He must have drifted off again, at some point, because suddenly he felt the van pull to a stop. The side door was slid open, he could hear the hinges as they creaked into action. Then the van dipped slightly as somebody entered, and he felt a hand on his feet, still tied together, pulling him, dragging him across the metal surface of the van. Maybe he had been alone earlier after all. The movement aggravated his shoulder but he didn't make a noise, _play dead_, he ordered himself, hoping he could pick up a clue, a sign, a name – any form of data that might tell him where he was, or what the hell was going on.

His legs were dropped suddenly and they jarred against the pavement as his body hung half in and half out of the car. Two sets of hands rolled him out the rest of the way, and he felt his body fall through the foot or so of air before he hit the hard concrete. He wasn't expecting them to drop him, and it hurt, his head bounced off of the floor hard, but that was nothing compared to the fire that jolted through his shoulder, it felt like a scalpel was scraping against the nerves up and down his arm, around his shoulder, and he realised he was no longer playing dead, he was groaning beneath the tape, and suddenly the pain was too much, and he was going to throw up. _No, no, don't – can't_ – he tried to hold it in, but the vomit came, and he couldn't spit it out – he was choking on it – coughing and trying to gag and not breathing through his nose because he was panicking – this felt just like before, the memory of the water, he had banished it, but now it was back. _Can't breathe- dying – please – not like this-_

"Fuck, I'll do it," one of the men said, before stepping forward towards the bound man who was grunting, desperately wriggling around on the floor, as much as was possible – bright red in the face, and choking on his own vomit. The man leaned over, and with a gloved hand ripped the tape away from their prisoner's mouth. He stepped back quickly to avoid the vomit that surged out and splashed against the ground as Tony coughed and gagged and spat and gasped for air, before vomiting some more.

Laid on his side, Tony tried to move, to get to his knees, to help clear his airway from the vomit, but he couldn't move, his body too restricted from the tape that held his ankles together. He could feel the vomit smeared against his cheek, but he didn't care. After what felt like a lifetime he simply laid still, one cheek pressed against the gravel floor, mixing with the mess, breathing in deep, beautifully sweet breaths, breaths that tasted of vomit and bile – he didn't care, he could breathe again – he was still here – he was alive.

One of the masked men stood watching with distaste on his features, hidden beneath the balaclava he wore, like the other three. Their driver had already taken the van away as soon as they had dropped their target onto the ground – he had been directed to a woodland area 200 miles away where he would then incinerate the vehicle.

"This is going to be easy," he said to his colleague who only nodded. Tony didn't hear, he was still gulping in large mouthfuls of air gratefully.

The man who had freed Tony's mouth of the tape turned and shrugged to the others, who nodded, and with that he knelt down next to Tony, grabbed his face with a large, strong hand, the fingers digging in to his chin and jaw as he turned the man's head to face him. Tony tried to shake his head, to move the hands, but it was impossible. He heard a noise and realised it was the sound of a roll of tape being unwound.

"No, don't," he managed to gasp, before his mouth was once again firmly sealed shut. He tried not to panic, breathing through his nose, ignoring the acrid taste in his mouth, telling himself that it was okay – as long as he could breathe it was okay.

The two sets of hands that had dropped him earlier were back, and Tony braced himself as he was picked up, two hands holding him by his arms, dragging him along the gravel. His feet dragged along the ground below him, and Tony tried to focus on that, on the mess his $5000 shoes would be in, rather than the way his shoulder ached with each step, the feeling of warm blood dripping down his arm, making his shoulder itch. In the end it was too much, he felt his strength leaving him, he was going to lose consciousness again. _Why not_, he thought as he gave in to it, it couldn't be any worse than this. He was out cold again before his captors made it to the warehouse, where they deposited him in the room specifically designed to hold him.

They dropped him on the floor and turned to leave. One of the four men turned to the others. "Should we remove the tape, in case he's sick again? We don't want him choking to death before we get what we need?"

A second man nodded, and the man who made the suggestion ripped off the tape, taking some of Tony's goatee with it.

Harley knew this moment should have been the best moment of his life, but instead it was the worst. Captain America and Hawkeye were escorting him through the tower, the tower he had been so excited to finally see – but instead of looking around in awe and bouncing off the walls with excitement, Tony at his side, he was slouched down, hands in his pockets, looking at his feet, following the two superheroes obediently, all enthusiasm gone.

After taking the lift up to the 55th floor Steve led them into a conferencing room where the other Avengers were waiting. Realising they had come to a stop, Harley looked around at the room, the large table in the middle, and the huge bank of computers at the back. As he looked around the room he noticed two other people were there, the Black Widow herself, and Dr Bruce Banner. Wow, The Hulk was _here. _He noticed the two new arrivals staring at him, and felt the tiny bit of excitement die down again, because Tony was missing.

Natasha watched the kid enter the room, and turned to Bruce looking curious. All Clint had told them was that Tony had been with a friend when he was taken. Natasha couldn't think of any friends other than Happy of Rhodey, so had immediately thought it was a woman, and Tony was cheating on Pepper. She was relieved to see this wasn't the case, but still, the last thing she expected was a kid.

Rogers brought Harley over to the two new Avenger he had yet to meet, and they all sat down at the table, making Harley feel more nervous.

"Harley, this is Dr Banner," Steve said, doing introductions, "and Miss Rushman."

"Hi," Harley said, before looking back down at his hands.

Natasha couldn't help herself. "Hi Harley, how do you know Tony?"

Harley shrugged. "He's my friend. I sort of helped him save the world, last year, with the whole Mandarin and Extremis stuff that went off."

Steve and Bruce smiled, not believing a word the kid said. Natasha obviously didn't too, but decided to play along.

"Okay, great. You must be good friends then. What were you guys supposed to be doing today?"

Harley signed. "He was supposed to come visit me. Instead, he calls me," Harley talked like an old man, waving his hands as he did so, and Clint couldn't help but like the kid. "Like an hour before he is supposed to arrive, and tells me there's a jet waiting to take me to him. He said he needed help working on a suit, and he wanted my ideas. And," Harley paused a minute, looking down at his hands, "he said if any of you guys were around, he'd introduce me." He smirked sheepishly as he said this.

"But Tony doesn't have any more suits, and he doesn't have the arc reactor anymore either?" Steve asked.

Harley scoffed. "You don't think he can't put a reactor directly into the suit to power it? Anyway, he did destroy them, but he's building one more. Just in case. Like for back up."

Steve nodded. None of this made sense, but the kid was convincing. He turned to Bruce. "Did you know about any of this?"

Bruce shook his head. "No, I didn't, actually." He looked little hurt as he answered.

Steve turned his head to the roof, an old habit he hadn't quite banished yet. "Jarvis, is this true, is Tony working on a new suit?"

"I am not at liberty to say," Jarvis answered, telling them everything they needed to know. "Master Harley," Jarvis continued. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

Harley grinned, "Thanks J, you too!"

Natasha frowned. The kid was telling the truth – he really had helped Tony out last year.

Before more could be said, a frantic Pepper ran into the room, brief case in one hand, a large bundle of files and papers in the other. She dumped them all on the table before hurrying to face the troupe of people. "Okay, I got your message, where's Tony, what happened?" She scanned the faces. "Harley!" Harley got up and gave Pepper a hug which she returned tightly. "It's so good to see you again."

When their reunion was over, Steve took control of the room. "Pepper, we're not sure exactly what happened. Harley and Tony were heading back from the airfield, and an unknown vehicle started firing at them. Tony contacted Jarvis, told Harley to hide in the nearby woods, and took off, luring the van away. We found his car, burned out, a few miles away from where Harley was hiding. He wasn't in the car. We have to assume he was taken."

"But why, he doesn't have any suits, the reactors gone, what would they want with him?"

Steve sighed. "I don't know. But he's a smart man, and rich, it could be for any reason."

Pepper felt her eyes well up but pushed it back. Her hand started to shake. She had to stay in control. "Okay," she said, "me and Harley are going to leave you guys to it – please call me the minute you have anything."

Steve nodded, smiled slightly. "I will."

Pepper took Harley by the hand, led him out of the room. They Avengers could hear her chattering away with the kid, she obviously knew him very well. When they were alone Clint was the first one to break the silence.

"Anyone else curious that A) Tony was building a suit and we knew nothing about it. And B) Tony's friends with some kid who happened to help him beat AIM and the Mandarin?"

Nobody mentioned the fact that they had all failed to help Tony with the terrorist last year, they all looked similarly guilty. Natasha broke the sullen silence. "Well, what's done is done. We need to help him now. I spoke to Thor earlier, he is presently unavailable, but will join us as soon as possible."

Steve clapped his hands together. "That's great, but we can't wait for him to arrive. Let's get to it."

When Tony came too this time, he was fully aware of what had happened and the fact that he had been taken. He opened his eyes and saw the familiar darkness, could feel the material pushing against his eyes. He flexed his legs and felt that they were still tightly restrained. He did the same with his arms, and hissed at the pain, but was pleased that he had been able to hiss, they had removed the tape from his mouth. Good, _progress_.

Tony took five minutes, laid still on his side, listening carefully, but he couldn't hear anything. He could feel his right side going numb from laying with all his weight on it, against the cold cement floor, but he didn't dare roll over on to his injured shoulder, this would just have to do.

"Hey," he called out, "anybody there?" Nothing but a slight echo of his voice against the walls.

Getting an idea, Tony straightened out slightly, still on his side, and began to rub his head up and down against the floor. The cement felt uneven against his cheek as he continued to shrug his head up and down. The texture grated against his face, hurting a little, but he ignored it. It was worth it, after a minute of two the blindfold became dislodged. He continued on and eventually the blindfold dropped down around his neck, he could see again. _"_That's better", he whispered to himself as he got his first look at where he was.

The room was dark, four stone walls, a high ceiling, and a concrete floor, with several drains drilled in. That made his stomach churn a little. One of the walls held a door, it looked strong, steel maybe, with big chunky hinges holding it in place. He expected it would be locked.

After taking a look around the room, Tony decided he needed to move. He slowly tried to shuffle his way to a corner of the room, knowing it would be more comfortable, and easier on his aching arms and shoulders, if he could slouch against a corner. He painstakingly made his way across the room, shuffling his hips and wriggling his body from left to right as he inched his way across the floor. He chose the corner furthest from the door so he could keep an eye on it.

His shoulder ached from the movement, as did his arms, trapped between the floor and his body as he made his way across the floor. The room wasn't large, but it felt enormous as he inched his way to the wall. Eventually he made it, and he slouched upright against the corner, resting his shoulders against the two walls, letting his arms hand freely. He realised he was panting and he could feel the sweat on his body, he was exhausted. His arms started to tingle with pins and needles as the weight was released from them. He rested his head back against the wall, taking deep breaths to get his breath back, when he finally looked down at his aching shoulder. It was bleeding again, that much was obvious from how the blood was pooling into his shirt, but he was sure that was a result of the movement, and left alone the blood would start to clot again. He hoped so. He couldn't move his shirt to have better look, so he dropped his head back against the wall, forgot about the gunshot wound, closed his eyes and tried to rest.

He tried to keep track of time, but it was difficult. He dozes off a few times but each time he woke he was still in his corner, still tied up with copious amounts of tape, still alone. Eventually he heard a loud snapping sound, followed by a clang. Tony sat up straighter in his corner, suddenly very alert. He heard a scratching sound, and realised it was a key. Tony held his breath was the large door was opened and four men walked into the room. It was the same four from the van earlier; they all wore the same leather jackets, surgeon style gloved hands, and woolly balaclavas hiding their faces.

They walked in, stood around him, crowding over him. Tony felt his breath hitch in his chest but was determined not to show it.

"Hey," he said, and flashed his best Stark smile. "How's it going guys?"

_**Thanks for reading, but please, please review!**_

_**The more reviews I get, the faster I update :)**_

_**Please note that my other story, Captive, hasn't been abandoned, I just had a few other ideas in my head too. Hopefully it will be updated soon, along with this fic!**_

_**Cheers x**_


	3. Chapter 3

**LIABILITY**

_They walked in, stood around him, crowding over him. Tony felt his breath hitch in his chest but was determined not to show it._

_"Hey," he said, and flashed his best Stark smile. "How's it going guys?"_

**3**

Nobody responded, as Tony had expected. Instead, the largest of the men, and it was at this point Tony noticed how _big _he really was, stepped forwards, swung his leg back and kicked Tony in the stomach as hard as he could. With his arms secured around his back there was little he could do to protect himself. He yelped out as the foot hit, pain thrumming through his midsection, and automatically folded in on himself, which was a mistake, given it only pulled on his strained arms and aggravated his shoulder further. He gasped for breath, winded from the hit, and tried not to flinch when the man pulled out a knife. A second man came forward, grabbed Tony by the arm and threw him on to his stomach. Tony held his breath as the big man cut through the tape on his legs, and then his wrists. As soon as his arms were released they dropped to his sides on the floor and Tony couldn't help but cry out in pain again at the movement. His limbs were stiff and the movement hurt – shit, it _really_ hurt. He needed to get some circulation back into them.

His vision blacked out for a minute and Tony struggled to hold on. He could feel the strong arms of the two men rolling him on to his back now, and the feel of cold metal against his wrists. They cuffed him, then the large man grinned at Tony as he lent over him, pulling the blindfold back up in place. He felt somebody pull on the chain between his cuffed hands and Tony stumbled to his feet, struggling to stay upright as he was pushed and pulled out of the room. It wasn't long before he was pushed into a seat and Tony was grateful, he really was, as the hands let go of the cuffs, allowing his hands to just drop into his lap. His arms were still aching, they had seized up earlier, and the movement had again jostled his shoulder.

Tony tried not to jump as he felt a hand brush against the side of his head, but then the blindfold was pulled away and light filtered in. Tony looked around, squinting lightly in the light, and watched as one of the four goons began to tie his legs to the chair using the same tape from before. He let out a sigh of relief when he moved away after restraining his legs, leaving his hands cuffed in front of him, he was grateful for this small mercy. He looked around the room, it was similar to the other one he had been brought from, other than a large one way window on one wall, and the steel chair he was sat in, which was bolted to the floor. Other than that it was the similar concrete walls and not much else.

Tony watched as two men left the room, leaving through a metal door next to the mirror/window. It slammed shut behind them. Tony looked at the two remaining men, watched them as they stood before him, one to the left of his chair, one to the right.

"So," Tony said, all bravado, "what now?"

The larger of the two men spoke, only his eyes and teeth showing beneath the balaclava. His voice was cold, it sent a shiver down Tony's spine.

"Where is the chip?"

Tony looked confused. "What?"

The smaller goon leaned forward, punching Tony in the face, sending his head spinning backwards, his eyes snapped shut at the impact.

"Ow," he said, glaring at the guy who had hit him. He looked small, but he clearly had some muscle behind his cheap looking jacket.

The big man spoke again. "Where is the chip?"

Tony was confused. "Chip? Can you be more specific?" He took a breath. "Are you talking about casino chips, oven chips, a-"

Another punch shut him up, whipping his head back again as the blow crunched against his cheek. Tony groaned quietly as he blinked his eyes open and shut for a second or two as he dealt with the pain. He looked at the smaller man angrily. "Will you stop doing that?" He snapped.

"Mr Stark. We want the data chip. You have it. Where is it?"

Tony was genuinely confused, he hoped it showed on his face. "I own Stark Industries. I have thousands of data chips. Can you please be more specific?" There was a slight whine to his voice now, but damn it, he was annoyed, he genuinely had no idea what they were asking for.

The big man took a step forwards, leaning right down into Tony's bruising face, so close their noses were almost touching.

"I'll be more specific. I want the chip. The chip that was taken into Stark Tower five days ago."

Tony looked incredulous. The man stepped back. "Look, firstly, say it don't spray it. And honestly, your breath, it's kinda off putting, I don't want to be rude, but you could benefit from some breath mints. And as for this _chip_," he emphasised the word, "I honestly have no idea which one you are referring to, as I imagine there are hundreds if not thousands of them in the tow-" He screamed out as the smaller man, suddenly behind him, _when had that happened?,_ reached down and squeezed his shoulder. The wounded one, the one with a freaking hole in it. The pain was so intense he couldn't breathe, couldn't think – shit – the small guy released him, but it still hurt, still throbbed, left him panting for breath, spots in his vision, fighting the urge to throw up again. Actually, he thought to himself, tasting the sick from earlier, I could do with a breath mint. He started to laugh, couldn't help himself, but he quickly stopped as the large man began speaking again. _Concentrate,_ he told himself sternly.

"Captain America himself delivered that chip to the tower. Do you honestly expect us to think you don't know anything about it?"

Tony was still panting for breath, his shoulder hurting, bleeding, throbbing, making him feel faint. His head swirled slightly. Steve had a chip? What were they talking about? "Look," he said, his voice sounding a little defeated, a little strained, less bravado than he liked. "I don't know what you are talking about."

"We were generous, Mr Stark, we didn't pursue the boy, as we promised. We have kept our faces covered, as a show of faith, that we will let you go when we have what we need. But now we need something in return - the chip. We would prefer it if you just gave it to us, but if we have to, we will make you talk." Tony didn't doubt this, these men were clearly professional.

He shook his head, hoping to convey his honesty. "If I knew what you wanted, maybe I could help you. But I really don't know what you're talking about."

The little guy made a move for Tony's shoulder again, and he flinched, trying to curl in on himself as much as was possible, given his was trapped in the chair. The little guy laughed. The large man sighed.

"We know you have the chip. You will tell us where it is." He turned to look at the little guy, who nodded his head twice. "I'll leave my friend here to persuade you. I'll be back in a while. I hope you will be more compliant."

The big guy left the room. Tony looked wearily at the little guy. "Look, I really don't know about this chip."

The smaller guy laughed slightly, rubbing his hands together, an old trick to try and intimidate him. Tony smiled, asking "I don't suppose your loyalty is for sale?" He asked, lightly, raising an eyebrow and forcing a smile. "I don't know if you are aware of this, but I am a billionaire."

The little man shook his head and approached the chair slowly. Tony signed. "Great," he said, trying to brace himself. "Fantastic."

Bruce passed Pepper a mug of coffee, led her towards the kitchen table, her hand gently pressing against her back as he directed her.

"Where's the kid?"

Pepper smiled, but her eyes looked tired. "I left him in the workshop. He should be home by now, but he asked me to call his mum, he wants to stay until Tony gets back."

"Is that wise?"

Pepper shrugged. "He's actually helping distract me, having him here. He's a smart kid."

Bruce smiled. "I meant leaving him in the lab."

"He loves it down there. Jarvis is keeping an eye on him. He's smart, and into science and robots, he actually reminds me a little of Tony."

Bruce pretended to grimace. "The world only needs one Tony Stark."

Pepper laughed a little, then took a sip if her drink. "Any news at all?"

Bruce shook his head slowly. "No, I'm sorry. We're monitoring all channels – nothing has come in, no demands for money, nothing unusual on Stark Industries side of things."

"Any leads at all?"

Bruce sighed. "All we got from Harley was that he saw a black van. We're tracking down literally all black vans, but as you can imagine, even Jarvis is struggling. It's going to take time."

"It's been hours already."

Bruce rubbed her arm gently. "You have to be strong."

"What if he's dead?"

"He isn't," Bruce said, his voice warm. "That's one thing I'm sure of. They wanted him alive."

"Then they're hurting him, whoever has him, trying to make him build something…"

Bruce swallowed hard. "It's possible. Or, maybe they are just holding him for randsom, being quite to notch up the fear, so we pay whatever price tag them put on him. We just don't know. I know it's hard, but you can only wait. The team are working non-stop, and I promise you, we will find him."

Pepper felt tears well up in her eyes. "He's only just recovered, properly, from getting the reactor removed, his heart fixed."

Bruce nodded. "I know, it was hard for him, and whatever is going on it a set-back for sure, but without the reactor, he's stronger. The arc reactor was a weakness we always feared he would be targeted for, but they can't use it against him now."

"Ift he still had it, Jarvis might have been able to trace him."

"Don't think like that."

"It's true, and I made him get rid of it."

"Miss Potts," Jarvis cut in, making Bruce jump slightly. "Sir could not be made to do anything he didn't want to. And even with the arc reactor technology, I may not have been able to trace him."

Pepper smiled. "Thanks Jarvis."

"Please remain strong," the AI continued, and Bruce marvelled at this technology, this person, this thing Tony had created. "Harley is asking if he can visit the second lab, the one belonging to you, Mr Banner."

"Um," Bruce looked to Pepper.

"He's a sensible kid," she said, in Harley's defence.

"Okay, but please-"

"Don't worry Sir, Harley will be under strict supervision at all times."

"Thanks."

Pepper drained her drink. "I need to clear Tony's schedule, he has a busy week planned in but I'm going to move everything around."

Bruce nodded. "Do you need a hand?"

Pepper smiled, how did Bruce manage to be so soothing, so calming, despite his lurking alter ego? "No thanks, you should probably get back to the others."

"Yeah, I'll be in touch, if I hear anything."

How long had it been? Hours, only hours, Tony was sure. He tried to keep track of the time, knew it was important. It had to be hours – surely they weren't into days yet? He knew how easily time could distort in these situations – in Afghanistan he felt like he had been there a year or more, when it fact it had only been 3 months.

The little guy sure hadn't wasted any time. He had started with an eager beating, which left Tony bruised and aching in the chair, his ears ringing, head throbbing and mouth tasting of blood, which, let's be honest, tasted better than bile. Another hit to the face, not so bad this time, the back of a hand? Tony squinted an eye open, blinking back the dark spots that hovered around him. He hurt and he was tired and annoyed but this certainly wasn't going to break him.

"Tell me about the chip."

"We've been over this already. Please, have the decency to pay attention. Listening skills are invalu-" A punch to the stomach this time, cutting him off mid flow, making him lean forward, protecting the area with his cuffed hands from further assault as he coughed and gasped for breath.

"How do we recover it?"

"Who has access to the data stored on it?"

"Where in the tower is it located?"

Each new demand was punctuated with a kick, a hit, a slap, a punch, a threat, a fistful of hair pulled tightly, a grab or a poke at the bullet hole… It was starting to hurt, more. Or maybe he was feeling even more tired than before. When did he last sleep, he wondered? The earlier blood loss from his shoulder had to be taking its toll surely. And he felt annoyed, irritated even. Angry, perhaps, because he had no idea what these men were talking about, he couldn't answer their questions, even if he wanted to. If he had the information, he would cling to it, find inner resolve to hold on, to not give up – but this, this was frustrating. And amidst the pain and the hurt and the confusion a small voice niggled at the back of his head: _What is this chip? Why does Steve have it? Why is it in the Tower? Why did nobody tell me about this?_

Another hit to the face, splitting his lip, he groaned as his head lolled against his chest, only semi-conscious now. A hand was suddenly in his hair, holding his head up. "Pay attention," the man growled in his ear, before gently tapping his shoulder. Tony blinked again, trying to do as ordered.

"Look," he slurred, "I don't know-"

The hand squeezed, and Tony's protest ended abruptly as a scream forced its way through his mouth. The man moved away, pacing, and Tony's head again dropped to his chest as he gasped for breath and fought down the urge to both vomit and pass out. _Stay alert_, he told himself mentally as he raised his cuffed hands against his shoulder as much as he could, hoping to protect the area, and maybe this would help ease the pain a little too.

"You know," the man chided, pacing back and forth before him. "Maybe you don't know. I wouldn't trust you." The words stung more than they should. "After all," the man continued. "You're Tony Stark, not Iron Man."

'We are one and the same,' Tony thought angrily, but didn't rise to the provocation. Was the man trying reverse psychology? Well it wasn't going to work – not that he even knew what they wanted from him to begin with.

"You really are the weakest link in the chain, aren't you?" Another hand in his hair, forcing his sweaty, bruised and bleeding face up to look him in the eyes. "I wouldn't waste my time coming for you either."

And again, the words stung. Because – where were they? Were his team even looking for him? Anger started to rise in his stomach, but he fought it down, remembering what he had been told thousands of times in his life: Losing your temper achieves nothing.

The hand tapped his face, patronising, and the man's voice was smug as he continued to berate him.

Eventually man released his grip, turned away and continued his pacing. Tony was angry. He let his head loll against his chest as he took a deep breath. _Relax,_ he told himself.

He looked up as the man paced by him, then turned. He was close, but his back was turned. Tony didn't even think about it, just acted. He leapt up from his chair, as much as was possible, given that his ankles were tightly taped to the chair legs. He reached out with his arms, pulled his hands over the man's head, yanking him back in the process, taking him by surprise. Tony fell back in his chair, the chain of his cuffs pulled against the guards neck, pulling him into Tony's lap. Tony immediately began to squeeze, the man's body flush against Tony's chest as he pulled the cuffs back against his neck with all his strength, choking the man. The guard pushed against the hands that were suddenly strangling him but struggled to fight him off. Tony continued to squeeze.

The man beneath him started to panic, he tried to head-butt Tony but was too low, the blow glanced off Tony's chin. He elbowed Tony in the stomach but it was weak, his strength was faltering.

'Come on, come on,' Tony told himself as the man weakened in his grip. "I guess I don't need them to find me, I can do this myself," Tony grunted in the dying man's ears as he continued to pull on the chain of the cuffs.

A siren began to wail. Tony faltered slightly, looking around, wondering where the noise came from. _The one way mirror_. Shit. The lights went out, then suddenly started to flash on and off in line with the deafening siren. The door opened, through the sharp blasts of light Tony watched as three men came running in. He held on as tight as he could, desperately trying to maim the man in his lap while he had the chance.

The men reached him, he felt something hit him hard in the head the same time as something slammed into his shoulder, and then strong arms were on his hands, pulling his wrists up, forcing him to release the man. He tried to fight but it was useless, they were too strong. The siren was still blaring and the blinding light continued to flash on and off. Tony looked up, saw a glimpse of a taser before it was held against his chest and he felt his body jerk and spasm, and then there was nothing.

**Happy Easter everybody!**  
**Please, please, please review!**

**:)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Liability **

**4**

Tony opened his eyes, looked around the room, as best as he could without moving his head from the floor. His face was a mass of swollen, bruised and bloody flesh. His eyes were swollen, the left one leaving dark splotches in his field of vision when open. He'd worry about that later. He was back in the empty room, the one with nothing but drains in the floor. It didn't really matter – there was no longer any distinction between the two rooms – when they moved him and tied him to the chair – they hurt him – when they moved him and left him on the floor – they hurt him.

It was an endless cycle. His memories were disjointed, of the time since his escape attempt. He remembered being hit with the taser, and waking up afterwards, his body twitching uncontrollably, and the man he had tried to kill standing over him, a vicious bruise lining his neck where Tony had tried to choke him to death.

"Did I do that?" He asked, knowing he would regret it – but hey, he'd regret it anyway, they weren't _not_ going to hurt him, so why not?

The little guy he had tried to kill had then unleashed an almighty beating upon him. The large guy was present at all times, but he didn't intervene. Tony had hoped he was there to make sure their hostage wasn't killed in the onslaught, but apparently that wasn't the case, he was just an observer. The little guy was angry, that was clear; it was expressed with his fists, his feet, he punched and kicked and stomped and spat and Tony curled up as best as he could and drifted in and out of consciousness in-between. There were no questions this time, no demands, just punishment.

At one point a bucket of water was emptied over his head, waking him, shocking him out of a slumber, and he blinked away the water, panicking suddenly, almost back in Afghanistan, but then he saw the little guy, right up in his face, and remembered. It wasn't relief that flooded him, it was, realisation. He curled up a little more in on himself, then the large guy was on him too, his strong arms holding him down against the floor, pulling his left leg out from its protective curl, as the little guy removed his shoe and sock. Tony tried to pull his leg back, but he was too weak – hell, he could barely lift his head from the floor, how the hell was he going to fight two of the men off?

Tony didn't know what they had in store for him, and he didn't care to find out. "Look," he gasped, his voice more slurred than he realised. His face hurt when he spoke, like, really, _really _hurt, and he wondered if his jaw was broken. "I don't know any-"

The big guy slapped him across the face. His head smashed back against the concrete and stars whizzed across his vision. Either the big man was really strong, or Tony's face was really messed up for a slap to hurt so much. Maybe it was a bit of both.

The little man was up in his face again, sneering. "We're not interrogating you right now, you little shit," he hissed, his face so close to Tony's their noses were almost touching. "I'm teaching you a lesson," he spat, "You tried to escape. Now I'm going to break your f**king leg. Let's see if you try it again."

Tony tried to wriggle out of the men's grasp but it was futile. He was so god damn weak, and it hurt, it already hurt so much, _everywhere_. He tried to kick his feet out, to struggle, but the man's weight rested on his knee, forcing his leg out straight, they had rolled him on to his back and he hadn't even realised it.

Tony felt panic start to rise. His breath was hitching in his throat. A wild thought occurred to him – everything hurt so much already, would this new injury even register? Hell he'd been beaten half to death, tasered and shot – surely the body had a cut-off point where it went numb?

The little guy stood over his victim, Tony didn't even notice, he was still wondering if it would hurt, he was surprised when the man brought his steel capped boot down on the exposed ankle, pain thundered through him, a long yell escaped from his mouth, making his jaw and face ache in line with his ankle, and suddenly he was laughing, hysterical again, because why the hell would this not hurt, he was stupid, delirious maybe. The man brought his boot down again, this time higher up, on the calf, and it hurt, it _really_ f**king hurt, this time his yell was more of a cry, he couldn't help it. He thrust and bucked against the big man holding him down but it achieved nothing, just left him panting for breath and sweating and aggravated his other wounds. The third, fourth and fifth hits were in quick succession, his foot bearing the brunt of it. He was screaming now, long screaming wails of pain as was his bone and toes and flesh were stomped and crushed and mangeled against the floor. It was too much, he passed out, but they were prepared.

The little man waved smelling salts under his nose and Tony woke, startled, sweating profusely, his breath still coming in terrified and pained gasps and hitches as the little guy smiled and him and it started again. After that it was a haze. He remembered disturbed fragments, he remembered screaming, he remembered vomiting again; the first time over himself and the big man holding him down, the second time, over the floor, the big man learning from the first time. He remembered more pain, focused in his foot, then higher up his leg. He remembered the little guy, rubbing his face in the pool of vomit, prodding his shoulder, hurting his leg, his foot. He could hear his own screams, his tears, the smell of blood, vomit, and then, he remembered with shame, the smell of urine. He could hear the laughter, the taunts, the jeers, the sound of his own broken cries. It was all too much.

Eventually they had tired. The big man had released his grip. The little man had rubbed his hands together, satisfied with the broken mess of a man at his feet, crying, sobbing, still trembling against the floor, hands shaking, eyes squeezes shut with pain and terror.

"You think we need to tape his ankles back together?" The little guy asked the big man, grinning as he saw the fear on their captives face. "Huh," he asked Tony, kicking a foot against his good leg, the one they hadn't broken and crushed. "You going to try and escape any time soon?"

Tony shook his head as best as he could, fighting down the urge to both throw up and pass out. "No," he whispered, his voice quiet, strained and hoarse from all of the screaming.

The man turned to the big guy and grinned, clearly enjoying his moment after his earlier embarrassment of being taken and almost killed by the captive. "I can't hear you?"

He crouched closer to Tony, holding a hand against his ear. "Was that 'No Sir, I'll be a good boy?'"

Tony felt his humiliation deepen, but he was going to comply, he was not going to antagonise the man any further. "No sir," he gasped, his voice almost unrecognisable. He squeezed his eyes shut and winced at the pain in his throat. "I'll be a… good boy."

The man slapped his cheek and ruffled his hair, making Tony flinch and then shudder. He couldn't help it.

The larger man moved into view now, and he pointed his gloved hand over at Tony. Tony couldn't help but notice the blood smeared along the blue tint it had. "We'll be back shortly, to continue our discussions from earlier. I hope you are more willing to cooperate now."

The door closed, the slam of it making him flinch again. Tony closed his eyes. 'Don't look at the damage,' he instructed himself. His mind whirled. He was in pain. That was an understatement. He was in agony, everything hurt – breathing hurt – thinking hurt – being, hurt. He tried to regulate his breathing but he was scared – they were going to come back and continue questioning him, continue hurting him. What could he do? He didn't have the god damned information! Maybe that was a good thing, he wondered, because if he did have it, he was scared he would give it to them. His breathing accelerated and he realised he was having a panic attack. He fought it down, as best as he could. He rolled slightly on to his side, the wrong side, it jarred his leg and shoulder and suddenly he was retching again, coughing up bile. He tried to shift away from it but some still caught his good shoulder, covering the torn shoulder and sleeve, vomiting mixing with cotton and blood and sweat.

He closed his eyes. Tried to sleep. It hurt too much. He was scared. His body kept twitching, every so often his leg would judder. He wondered if he was going into shock. He wondered if anybody was looking for him. He squeezed his eyes now, they stung from crying, he hadn't been able to help it. He started to cry again, quietly, he felt so helpless. Eventually unconsciousness claimed him, pulled him away from his miserable reality.

The four man stood in the control room, still wearing their balaclavas and gloves. They were always careful.

"You went too far," one of the men admonished the small guy. "He could die. We need the information."

The little guy was defiant. "I didn't go too far. I punished him. And I broke him. When we go back in there, he will tell us everything."

"And if he doesn't, were limited on how much we can hurt him, seen as though you left him half dead in there!"

"I'll go back in there, do to his hands what I've done to his leg, or maybe I'll do the other leg? Maybe all three." He smirked. "Either way, I'll get the information."

"What if he doesn't have the information?" The third guy asked.

The big guy held his hand up. "You're right. One, we went too hard on him, we're going to have to make sure we keep him alive. Two, we don't know for sure he has the information. I don't want to risk killing him before we know for sure what he has to tell us. But I have an idea."

Tony came too later, but it was strange, he was awake, but he wasn't. He could hear people shouting in the background. He could hear banging and what could be gunfire. The room smelt of smoke. He could feel somebody hurriedly opening the cuffs from his wrists, somebody had freed him from the restraints. He could feel somebody lightly slapping his face, and something sharp in his arm, was it an injection? He felt his body being moved, lifted, and then, he wasn't on the cold floor anymore. He was on something soft, it felt… nice.

He tried to open his eyes but all he managed was a groan.

"He's waking up," one voice called, and another yelled out "give him a second shot."

He could heard more frantic voices, feel hands on him. Something pushed against his shoulder and he lurched in pain, nearly falling from the stretcher, hands held him against it.

"He's going in to shock."

"Give him some morpheine, stat!"

"Tony, are you okay?"

"Get back! We need to administer…"

He groaned again, opened a blurry eye, the other must have swollen completely shut, saw people stood over him, blurred figures. Was he on a – stretcher? Were they medics? His eyes closed again.

"Severe trauma to the leg-"

"Gun-shot wound to the shoulder-"

"Tony!"

The voices fed in and out of each other, and he felt warmth spread through him. Drugs. Was it morphine? Whatever the hell it was, he wanted more of it. Were these people paramedics? Had SHIELD found him? He tried to open his eyes but they were too heavy. He tried again, saw what looked like very blurred Captain America standing at his side, helping carry the stretcher.

"Steve," he slurred, before his eyes closed again, the drugged haze pulling him in.

"Everything's going to be okay." They were the last words he heard before he finally lost consciousness.

**_Is anybody reading this? I'm having a blast writing it! I've seen a few people following but not had many reviews – so please review if you are reading! I appreciate constructive criticism :)_**

**_If anybody is reading this – thanks! X_**


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